Harth growled, "The Darksiders are barbarians. They raid our flocks. Now they are gathering to destroy all Moornal. Is that just?"
"No," sighed Flane. "We will have to fight them, of course. Still—"
He sighed again, and Aevlyn put her warm hand in his and squeezed it. Her laughter cheered him, and he grinned at her.
Moornal lay on a great wide plain where tall grasses swayed in the breeze. Far beyond it, a low-lying range of mountains girdled the plains like a belt. This was the first trip Flane had ever made in the air; every magniship in Klarn was long since rusted into uselessness, for lack of the power to repair the ravages of time. It was an eerie sensation, looking down on rooftops and streets, and domed temples.
Aevlyn stood with her shoulder warm against his, beside the rail. "That is the culture the Darksiders would destroy," she said softly. "They would fling the blanket of their ignorance over it, make it as the ground for their megathons to race on."
Flane shook his head, eyes a little sad. "That is not what the Darksiders wish, Aevlyn," he frowned. "Put yourself in their place. Let us pretend that you and I are Darksiders—say, of twenty-five years ago. We come through the mountain passes on our megathons and sit looking at that great city. Remember, this is in the days when the Machine functions. We see that city lighted by the globular lights my mother, the Princess Gleya, used to tell me of. We see ships rise and sail majestically through the air. We see houses built so that sandstorms cannot wreck them.
"What emotions do we feel? Awe. And jealousy, yes. We want the security, the happiness, of that city. We do not wish to destroy it. We would be only too willing to be allowed to come and dwell in it. But the Klarnva will not have us."
The red-haired girl stared up at Flane, a long-nailed hand brushing back a lock of her russet hair. Her eyes were wide.
"You are strange, Flane. You can see others, and feel for them, as they themselves. We Klarnva are not like that."